


Maid of The Moby

by Chromi



Series: Deuce-centric [11]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Coming Untouched, Desk Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, Foreplay, M/M, Maids, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Roleplay, Teasing, and then sometimes you just gotta write something to go with it, look sometimes your favorite artist posts Deuce in a maid outfit, with Marco holding him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:34:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23706199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromi/pseuds/Chromi
Summary: A maid’s outfit. In Deuce’s size. What were the odds of such a thing laying around handy on the Moby? Deuce doubted that it had been a coincidence. But then again, Deuce also doubted that he cared much now, given that he was in it, he was playing along, and he had Marco’s cock rubbing hard up against him through entirely too much fabric.
Relationships: Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco/Masked Deuce
Series: Deuce-centric [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576678
Comments: 13
Kudos: 40





	Maid of The Moby

**Author's Note:**

> Look I am a weak person and when Mega draws maid Deuce and Marco, I write maid Deuce and Marco.

“You’ve been _so bad_.”

The side of the table slammed into the backs of his legs, stinging and eliciting a sharp, pained hiss. But Marco didn’t pay the slightest bit of heed to Deuce’s discomfort. Instead, big, strong hands cascaded down his sides, over his hips to dip and grasp his ass through the awful, _awful_ miniskirt that Marco had stuffed him in for this game.

A maid’s outfit. In Deuce’s size. What were the odds of such a thing laying around handy on the Moby? Deuce doubted that it had been a coincidence. But then again, Deuce also doubted that he cared much now, given that he was in it, he was playing along, and he had Marco’s cock rubbing hard up against him through entirely too much fabric.

“I’ve been bad,” Deuce sighed, going up on his tiptoes before allowing himself to be lifted onto the desk, legs spread to accommodate Marco between them, “I’ve been _really_ bad—”

“The worst.”

Calloused fingers worked up and under the ruffled skirt, smoothing cool along the heated skin of Deuce’s thighs.

“Bending over like that,” Marco rasped, ducking to mouth his words to Deuce’s neck, the flutter of his breath giving rise to a soft, wanton moan, the gentle arch of Deuce’s back, “showing yourself to me in front of my co-workers. What did you expect me to do, take you right then and there?”

So _that_ was the angle of today’s little game.

Those questing fingers hooked into the frilly panties that had been donned following extensive persuasion, barely a scrap of lace clinging around his hips that gave only the most minimal amount of coverage anyway. Down Marco pulled, and up rose Deuce’s hips, encouraging Marco with his heels drawing tight to the backs of his legs. But not enough – _not enough_ – the panties didn’t come off, the tugging simply nothing more than foreplay for Marco, happy to watch Deuce struggle and twist fruitlessly to get the damn things off him, pulled taught by his erection.

“I expected nothing,” Deuce sighed, working frantically to rid Marco of his shirt, fingers trembling in his haste, skittering over broad, muscular shoulders, “I merely—”

“ _Liar._ ”

Before Deuce could protest against the loss, Marco had stepped away and sunk to his knees, pulling the short skirt over his head with a wicked, determined grin. Breath caught tight in his lungs, and suddenly Deuce was seeing stars on that first warm, wet contact of what was unmistakably Marco’s tongue to his shaft through the thin lace.

“ _Ah, M-Marco_ —”

A wet, lewd sound filled the room and Deuce _shook_ atop the desk, scrabbling for purchase through the ridiculous skirt, arousal spiking. Marco’s lips – had to be, certainly _felt_ like them – found the head of his cock through the panties and sucked another loud, wet kiss to the underside.

“You’re dripping already,” Marco informed through ragged breath, spreading Deuce’s legs open further, encouraging one stocking-wrapped thigh to rest draped upon his shoulder to open up his prize, let him _feast_ — “you’re soaked down here, Deuce.” Deuce jerked in place with a sharp, keening gasp when pressure met his entrance through the fabric – hard, unrelenting pressure that rubbed obstinately over him, back and forth, relaxing him where there needn’t be further encouragement to— “Wow,” Marco chuckled directly against his dick, and Deuce bucked into that burst of vibration, fisting at the skirt, teeth almost piercing his lip, “are you kidding me? You’re totally _drenched_ at the back, too.”

Of course he was. Did Marco really think that he was going to let him do as he pleased this time?

“Last time,” Deuce said shakily, grinding back down against Marco’s fingers, up against the tongue that returned to tease tantalising through that fucking goddamn material, “l-last time you didn’t prepare me enough, so I—to make sure—”

“Again with the lies.”

Teeth – _teeth!_ – sunk into the inside of his thigh, that delicate, soft skin so close to his balls, his perineum, that Deuce very nearly kicked Marco away on reflex. Instead a harsh, raw noise tore through him, and he positively pulsed wet to Marco’s kitten lick at his head. “I asked if you were ready and you said _yes_. _You_ —” a hard, punctuated suck; a short, shivered shudder in response from Deuce, “—moaned for my cock before you could take it. _You_ —” cool fingers touched to his rim, sliding past the lace at _last_ and pressing, pressing, holding off on breaching until he _knew_ he would have Deuce on the verge of stuffing his own fucking fingers in himself to end the teasing, “— _you_ , Deu, practically fucked yourself on me.” Ah, right, that was how the night had gone. Those fingertips hooked, barely slipping into the wet, sucking heat of Deuce’s body, earning a distracted, soft sound of heedless longing. “And now you want to do it again, don’t you?”

The lace was torn from him without warning, long nails snatching at his fevered skin; the rip rent the air, the scrap of material dropped and forgotten until it was to later be discovered by one distressed nurse.

Marco’s head reappeared from under the skirt, giving Deuce no chance to voice his disappointment at it leaving his cock – those lips that tasted of himself pressed to his own, hungry and hasty, moving against him like Marco was starving for his tongue.

“ _I want it_ ,” Deuce panted, wrapping his legs around Marco’s waist, fastening there with ankles locked together at the small of his back, “want you to fuck me, Marco, _please_ , _p—”_

His world went momentarily static, reduced to the bright-hot pleasure _pain_ of two long fingers sinking into him at once, the _bastard_ , stretching him open and wet to almost what felt like breaking point straight away.

“ _Shit_ ,” Deuce ground out, seizing Marco by the shoulders when he moved in against him again, smug, licking against his lips with that familiar salty tang of himself once again, “ _fuck, Marco, that’s too—you’re—!”_

“You can handle this,” Marco purred over the slick sound he elicited, drawing out before plunging back in, clearly enjoying how Deuce moved with him, arching and gasping sharp like that, “you can handle two fingers.” Rough, sure movements of his wrist brought his fingers in to curl back in on themselves, pressing to Deuce’s front wall and sensitive nerves. “In fact,” and ah, fuck, there it was, Marco sounded ragged at last, that clear indicator that this wasn’t going to be a drawn out session, his patience slipping, “if I remember right—” a rough jab up into Deuce – a twitch, a gasp, a brilliant red line drawn across Marco’s neck where one blunted nail dug just that little too deep, “—you can take two men at once too, can’t you, pretty maid?”

He’d never done anything of the sort in his life, but the mere _suggestion_ that Marco liked the fantasy of Deuce taking someone else alongside him was—

“If you tell me to,” Deuce panted, head thrown back and arms trembling with the effort of holding himself upright, Marco’s lips at his throat and the fingers inside him working him up so _damn fast_ , “if you order me, Commander, I’d gladly—g-gladly, _ahh—”_

A third finger pressed inside none too gently, and Deuce’s lip was back under attack in his bid to silence himself. Fruitless, desperate, and yet seeming to only buoy Marco’s ego, increase his attempts to wreck him.

The loss of having Marco bend, burying his face into his chest instead of laving hungry kisses to his neck was almost too much – Deuce _keened,_ begging for the skin to skin contact to recommence, fingers flexing only to curl and rip at the paper he had unwittingly slapped his palms down onto. He knew what it was, distantly, knew that he was shredding his own damn records from earlier that day in this cloud of lust that had seized him, but he couldn’t _care_. What did it matter if he’d have to write it out again? No one would know except for him. All he wanted was Marco’s lips back on him, not shoved deep into the fabric of the maid dress and dropping lower, lower, into his stomach, down to his navel, sinking to—

_Oh. Well, okay then_.

The skirt was back over his head in an instant, Deuce flinging it up once Marco’s trajectory became clear. Stocking-clad heels dug into Marco’s shoulder blades, knees bent and spread wide to allow him back down there.

“ _Oh, god_ ,” Deuce moaned up to the ceiling, hot and breathy, “Marco, _mn_ , p-please, suck me off, Marco, _please_ , I can’t—I can’t _stand this_.”

Breath ghosted his dick in a self-assured laugh that rumbled deep and indulgent. _God_ , Marco was hot when he got the urge to go on one of his power kicks instead of being loving and _nice_. “Such a pretty little cock,” Marco said, his smile clear in his voice, “so flushed and wet for me. You _are_ blessed, Deuce, having such a sweet thing hidden away, just waiting for me to unwrap it.”

He didn’t care that Marco had called him _little_. He couldn’t. Not when a fourth finger was eased in, too thick to be Marco’s pinkie, hooking differently to the others to pull him apart at the seams, open his body properly and— _fuck Marco to hell and back_ he was sliding his left forefinger in with the three right in situ, stretching him too much, he was going to _break—_

“I could look at it all day,” Marco hummed, amused, presumably, by the way Deuce jumped at the shiver of breath to such sensitive skin, “suck on it all day, too. So cute, leaking in anticipation for me.”

And then— _then_ came his lips, wrapping around the head of his cock again and sucking. It became too much all of a sudden, this whole keeping himself upright business, and Deuce sank down to his back, sprawled out over the desk, his folder of notes open underneath him, papers astray. A high whine escaped him unbidden, thighs bunching tight without warning on Marco setting up a steady, teasing, _delicious_ rhythm.

“ _S’good_ ,” he choked, arching up, abdomen clenching with that familiar, urgent need, “you’re so good to me, M-Marco—”

But it wasn’t what he wanted. Or rather, it was, but not _enough_. Getting fucked by Marco’s fingers, his pace increasing rapidly to the strength of Deuce’s moans, and getting sucked into that wet heat was bliss of the kind that had Deuce’s eyes rolling back and squeezing shut. But it wasn’t quite enough.

And Marco, ever happy to service, forever pleased to simply work Deuce through his own pleasure as his first and foremost priority, would not change what he was doing unless asked.

“Not like this,” Deuce gasped, shoving the heel of a palm to his face and feeling himself _burn_ , “n-not like this, Marco, please, just—would you just _do it properly_.”

The pressure around his dick was gone immediately, and Deuce had to wonder, if vaguely, whether he’d done the right thing in requesting this. Words were licked to his flushed, swollen head, a smile undoubtedly playing at full lips slick with pre-come and saliva.

“Properly?” Marco’s tongue flickered to his frenulum, tasting him, driving him _mad_. “Define _properly_ for me, Deuce. Would you say that _this—_ ” an aimed, hard slide against his prostate had Deuce thudding the back of his skull to the table, “—isn’t _doing it properly_ for you?” Another lick, this time long and hard up the underside of his shaft, had Deuce clawing for Marco’s head through that _fucking_ skirt. “Are you not virtually at the point of coming?” He could only pant harshly, little black spots leaping into his vision as his eyes swam with tears of frustration, darting over the wooden ceiling. A kiss was placed to his slit, and Deuce bucked up into that fleeting pressure, groaning, tightening around those fingers inside— “Well? Speak to me.”

A strangled, gargled sound tore through him before coherency took its place.

“I already told you,” Deuce said, strained, tensed, “to—to _fuck me_.”

“But I am,” Marco said, lips sliding up Deuce’s shaft tantalisingly slowly, “with my fingers.” To prove his point – not that Marco _needed_ to prove that he had his fucking fingers in Deuce’s fucking ass – he thrust in harder, deeper, palm curving flat to balls and _pushing_ until Deuce’s toes curled in the air. “Don’t tell me you want even more?”

“I want more,” Deuce obeyed the unspoken command; his thighs wouldn’t stop shaking, muscles weak and unwilling to cooperate with how _close_ he was, right there on the edge, “Marco please, please, _please fuck please hurry up, with your cock, Marco, I—”_

Tears began to roll in earnest at the exact moment Marco pulled free from his body and stood. Excitement shot up Deuce’s spine as he raised his head just enough to see Marco roughly tug down his pants and struggle out of them, not bothering to remove his shoes. He only got one foot out, giving the second up as a bad job and leaving his pants pooled at his ankle.

And then nails – long, curved, _feral_ – bit into Deuce’s hips, hauling him in closer.

“On your feet,” Marco said, voice just as rough as his movement, “and turn around.”

One of the sheer stockings caught on Marco’s nail in Deuce’s haste to scrabble off the table, papers bunching and pens rolling. It tore, laddering right down to his toes, leaving a hole at his thigh the size of a fist, but it didn’t matter, it couldn’t matter, _nothing_ mattered other than lying on his stomach, fingers splayed over the dark stained wood of his desk. Waiting. Rising up onto his tiptoes to try and account for their difference in height, make it easier for Marco to _take_ —

—with no warning, wrenching back the skirt to rest across Deuce’s back; he heard it tear, squeezed his eyes shut hard enough to press the last of the tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Don’t scream,” was all that Marco said on lining up, nudging thick and hot to Deuce’s entrance, before he pulled Deuce back by the hips and _pounded_.

It took his breath away, the pace, the slick, raw _slap_ of Marco’s hips crushing flush to Deuce’s own on that first thrust. Left him clawing at his papers, saliva pooling at the table where it became suddenly and acutely impossible for him to close his mouth, jaw slack. The sound – a scream, no less – was forced from his lungs, ripped through his chest and throat before he could even _consider_ fighting it back and doing the one and only thing Marco had told him _not_ to do.

“ _Marco!”_ Deuce sobbed, spine bowing on raising his hips as much as he physically could, toes aching with the effort of holding himself aloft, “Mar—Mar _co, Mar—ahh, ah—M-Marco, that’s—ah, f-fuck, I’m—!”_

Weight – warm, broad – settled over him, pinned him by the wrists to the table and held him fast. Marco nuzzled into his hair, breathing in deep and full, holding him down, trapping him. Owning him.

“You feel so good,” Marco hissed to his ear, nipping at it right as he angled down, thrust hard along Deuce’s prostate and raised an undignified _squeal_ , “so warm and tight around me, even though I worked you open. Can you feel me in you?” Deuce would have laughed had he had enough air in his lungs to do so, had his vision not been receding along the peripheries. “Can you feel me all the way up into your stomach?”

To illustrate, he tucked a hand down underneath Deuce, pressed it flat to his lower abdomen and rubbed almost lovingly there.

“ _Yes_ ,” Deuce managed, chin rubbing raw to the desk, the thing squeaking loud enough that there was no possible way the nurses just next door couldn’t hear it (or hadn’t heard him sobbing Marco’s name, come to think of it), “ _you’re—ahh—inside, you’re—_ ” But he couldn’t explain, couldn’t articulate the words _I can never get over how damn_ big _you are_ because what was language anymore, really? There was only Marco’s name hot on Deuce’s tongue, his mind blank to the overwhelming sensations, cock dripping to the table and staining his work that was already crumpled and useless, wrecked by his inability to at _least_ take this back to Marco’s bedroom—

His moans pitched up to orgasm frequency, frantic and stark, before Marco groaned against him, “d’you want my hand around your dick, or d’you wanna come like— _ahh_ —like this?”

The only response he could muster was a frustrated growl, the scrape of nails dragging over wood. Marco chuckled, bit into his neck, and clawed into his hips hard enough to draw blood.

It had never been this intense, Deuce was sure, had never felt _this good_ without something working his cock too. But now he was gone in a haze of lust, cheek rubbing slick through his own saliva as he came untouched onto the desk, shaking with the force of it and bucking aimlessly forward, the coil that had wound so endlessly tight in his gut springing open at last.

“Good,” Marco mouthed to his neck, pace unrelenting, pounding harder, harder, ever _harder_ into Deuce until he saw stars behind his eyelids and oversensitivity threatened to take him, “so _good_ Deuce, that’s it, hold out for me a—that’s— _it_ —”

Heat – wet, sticky – flooded him, coated his swollen walls and filled him up as Marco came with a final snap of his hips to Deuce’s, balls pressed flush to balls. He raked his nails down over Deuce’s ass, lording one final, lasting claim over him, before giving each cheek a satisfied smack.

But when Marco tilted his hips away to pull out, Deuce found his wrist and squeezed it. “Not yet,” he rasped, and, although his legs felt like jelly, trembling so violently he was sure he was on the verge of collapse, he guided Marco’s hand up to tuck into his own beneath his chest, forcing him in close again. “let me… let me savor this.”

“What?” Marco barely whispered, lips ghosting his ear with a kiss, a labored breath, “the feeling of coming untouched?”

“No,” Deuce couldn’t help but smile peacefully, eyes drifting closed, “the moment before… before I have to get up and see the mess we’ve made.”

Marco snorted, petting Deuce’s hair fondly. “And people say you’re a romantic.”

“I _am_ a romantic,” Deuce corrected dreamily, the lull of sleep tempting him a little too easily, but no, he would _not_ give in spread atop of his own come in a maid outfit, of all things, “just not when you decide to dress me up for your debauchery. There was nothing romantic about _that_. You even forgot about the act five minutes in.”

“So did you.” A kiss was pressed into his temple, and Deuce hummed a little pleased sound at the contact. “If I roll you onto your back,” Marco said slowly, stroking Deuce’s hip, “you could just lie on the table and let me take you nice and slow for a second round.” When Deuce frowned and gave Marco a questioning look, Marco added, “means you wouldn’t have to face cleaning up just yet. Just an idea.”

Just an idea, indeed… and one that Deuce ultimately found himself agreeing to.

Damn it.

**Author's Note:**

> This contains like NO introspection... I think I must be sick or something.
> 
> Please fill [my Tumblr](https://chromiwrites.tumblr.com/) inbox with prompts, nonsense, or anything Deuce-related! I love to chat TT
> 
> Comments and kudos let me know if I'm doing something right, and I always love your feedback!


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